Page 18 of Second Sets Omnibus

“Shit! What the hell?” Rad whispers with concern. “Jesus!” he croaks, emotions rising in his throat. “Hey? Hey? Are you okay? Something happened, Sweetness. I think you need to go to the hospital. Hey? Can you hear me?” A light tapping on my cheeks forces my eyes to crack open, and I look around.

The moist grass encases my nearly naked and aching body, and when I peek at the man sitting beside me with tears on his cheeks, I immediately recognize him. Ashton Radcliffe. My classmate and Kieran’s—my knight— new best friend.

My ma said I shouldn’t have gone to the party after it was all said and done. She said I was too young for that side of town, and I should have known the Lakeview kids would have done that. But she never understood my reasoning because she was never there.

I wanted a chance to see the boy who had left me behind and glimpse the man he had become. Many nights I wished I had stayed home and forgotten about the boy who handed me a weapon to defend myself and taught me about life.

But what I saw was a stark reminder of why I should have given up on that dream because he was a completely different person, lounging by the pool with his new friends, laughing as girls jumped into the pool naked in front of them. That should have been the first clue I was in way over my head, coming to the party with just one friend.

Even when I tried to gain his attention and say hi, he blew me off and pretended not to know me. Hell, as I’ve gotten older, I don’t think he did. Was I so easily forgettable? Or had I changed so much?

In retaliation and with a broken heart, I took my first, second, third, fourth, and fifth drink of alcohol. Something I swore I’d never do. After seeing its effects on Kieran’s mom and mine, alcohol was never my go-to. Shit, it still isn’t.

I shudder again, trying to tamp the swirling panic roaring in my gut. It’s not those strangers. It’s not the situation. Regardless of that, the memory plays on a loop. The rest of my patience breaks like a damn rubber band snapping.

Beads of sweat break out in a slight sheen, misting my whole body at the feel of his unwanted hands ghosting through my hair. I learned to set my fucking boundaries long ago, and now it’s time to remind them where I stand. Through the years, I’ve reclaimed my body and pleasure, but on my terms.

I abruptly push from my seat, startling everyone. Before he can move, I’m weaving my fingers through his short, dark strands. Yanking his neck to the side, I snarl, standing on my tippy toes to reach his massive height. If I thought he was enormous on stage, standing in front of him is a whole other story. He towers over me with impressive stature and bulkymuscles. Probably put on by lugging amps, guitars, and drum sets around. I huff. Now is not the time to think about his sexy body. Now is the time to show him what I think of him touching me without permission—or anyone for that matter. If these guys think they can follow me around and touch me whenever they want, they’ve got another thing coming.

I yank the small pocketknife I never leave home without out of my pocket. Flicking it open, I expose the razor-sharp edge and nudge it straight into his cock through his jeans. His eyes blow wide when the tiny tip of my knife nestles snuggly against his balls in warning.

Yeah. It’s ball-nicking time, Assface. Feel my fucking fury.

His hands go up in the defense, and I pull his hair tighter, making him wince. River West and no sleep do not mix. But sprinkle over-privileged, touchy pricks into the pot? Makes for an unpleasant morning. For all of us, now, apparently.

“Just because we had one mediocre fuck doesn’t give you the right to touch me ever again. Ya hear?” I ask, pulling the strands of his hair tighter in my grip until he answers like a good fucking boy with a nod. Tears collect in my eyes from the fucking anger and fear flowing through my damn veins. I try to shake them off, refusing to let them fall. I’ll be damned if these assholes see me cry, even if it’s not from sadness.

“Whoa,” Rad, the drummer, murmurs in alarm.

As quiet as a damn church mouse, he moves beside me, putting his hands up in a placating manner. A grimace spreads across his face, darting his eyes from the storm brewing behind my eyes and the knife currently two seconds away from plunging into his BFF’s dick. Sometimes I wonder if he remembers the girl he found half naked, discarded behind a shed like a piece of trash or if I’m simply a blemish in his memories. Because I often think of the man who helped dress the disoriented, sobbing girland thank him daily. Not only did he pick me up at my lowest, but he also took me to the hospital.

I grind my teeth, staring deep into the eyes of my former classmate, Rad. The boy who held me close after…. I shake my head, ridding my brain of those thoughts again.

“Sorry, River,” Rad corrects with a small, understanding smile. “He meant nothing by it. Kieran is a little touchy-feely when he’s all hopelessly obsessed.” Kieran grunts at his friend’s remark but doesn’t refute it. In fact, when I look into his icy eyes, I see the fire brewing, just for me—his River Blue.

“Obsessed? What’re you, my stalker, now?” I say, staring into Kieran’s hooded eyes.

“You kept it,” he breathes, gesturing to the knife nestled against his balls with his eyes, not daring to move a muscle.

“I… I…” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I stare at the name etched into the grip. River Blue.

Butterflies burst to life in my belly, doing somersaults inside me, arousing the beast between my legs. The way he stares at me sends conflicting emotions straight through me. I ache for him to bend me over again and screw me into next week. Hell, even the thrill of his friends watching slickens my panties more, which should disgust me. But it doesn’t. And it proves to me more and more how fucked up I am.

Kieran is bad for my health. Bad boy. Rich prick. Can’t keep his hands to himself. And looking at me like I’m the answer to everything. Lights burst in his eyes when he looks at me, almost begging to grab me tight, kiss the soul from my body, and claim what’s his.

Damn it. I’m spiraling toward poor decisions. Again. I’ve been down a hopeless road, leading to heartbreak and disaster. If I knew what was good for me, I’d cut his balls off and be done with it. But I never know when to quit. It’s my toxic fucking trait.

“I kept it,” I whisper, furrowing my brows at my answer.

My breath leaves when I see the desire swimming within the depths of his eyes at my confession like he has me right where he wants me.

Liquid lust spears straight to my pussy, clenching around nothing when his raging hard-on pokes into my stomach. Even with a fucking knife pointed at his balls. He licks his lips, giving me a tiny head shake, and fear overtakes him. Confirming to me all I need to know about the boy who I literally have by the balls. He likes this.

“Not-not stalking you,” Callum mumbles, stumbling over his words, carefully flipping through the vintage records nestled in their sleeves.

Callum Rose stands with his broad back to me, flexing every time he pulls a sleeve out and reads the back. He hums to himself mostly, bobbing his head. White earbuds poke out from his ears, obscured by blond curls hanging over his ears. A deep blush overtakes his face when he peeks back at me, giving me a soft smile, and returns to his findings with vigor.

“And you just happen to work here,” Asher Montgomery sneers in my direction, standing with his arms folded across his chest. His lip twitches, looking around the store, and sticking his nose in the air.